Another New Dotty Blog

 

I’ve made a new blog. It’s becoming a habit when I get too antsy and mental. Blog, blog, blog.

 

This is it, if you’re interested —

COMMON SENSE IS DEAD 

 

 

 

 

 

£148m Euromillions Winners Say It Won’t Change Them

 

The couple who won the Euromillions jackpot on Friday were just on the BBC News.

He doesn’t want to give up the music shop he owns.

They MIGHT buy a new house. At the end of the report, the reporter said “they said they won’t let it change them.” Meaning their win.

WHY THE FUCK DID THEY BUY A TICKET IN THE FIRST PLACE THEN?

If you don’t want your life to change DON’T BUY A TICKET. Leave the tickets for those of us who DO want our lives to change.

Am I jealous? YES I FUCKING WELL AM JEALOUS. 

That was MY jackpot.

MY £148M.

Would I have let it change me?

FUCK, YES.

It’s not fair.

 

 

I’m In A Bad Mood

 

I’m fucking foaming.

I want to batter someone.

THE BASTARD HITLER CAMERON, that’s who I want to batter.

With a metal bar, a big heavy rusty diseasy METAL BAR.

And all his TORY CABINET DEMONS, I want to batter them.

And all the FUCKING SANCTIMONIOUS MIDDLE-CLASS BASTARDS who voted THE CUNT into power.

Because that’s what he is, a CUNT.

I hate that word.

I never use it.

You won’t find it ANYWHERE in the posts or comments I’ve made, it’s the foulest, nastiest word in the English language but it’s the only appropriate word for him because he’s the FOULEST NASTIEST FUCKER in the country.

CAMERON THE CUNT.

If karma does exist and if it’s true that what goes around comes around, he’s in for it, BIG time. If the additional suffering he’s causing to people is added up and given back to him HE WILL SCREAM FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Roll on eternity.

CUNT.

 

 

Yorkshire 2012 Olympickles

I thought I’d make a nice picture for tonight’s

OPENING CEREMONY of the OLYMPICKLES.

I’ll be ignoring the rest of it.

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Happy 5th July To All Americans

 

Okay, you’ve had long enough with this Independence shite to realise it’s time to come home to Mummy. We’ll have you back under our rule on one condition – you never, ever, ever allow

SIMON FUCK-FACE COWELL

 

or GORDON PLASTIC-FACE RAMSAY

 

to come back to Britain. You can do what you want with them.

In return, we’ll allow you to give us all your money, land, property and apple pie recipes.

Deal??

(you know you want to).

 

Shitey Sunday Picture Post – Slimey D. Scameron, The Sea Pig Prime Minister

Slimey D. Scameron is one of the most hated

Prime Ministers Britain has ever known.

This is the story of his life.

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BABY SLIMEY

Slimey D. Scameron was neglected from a very early age.

Left out in the cold in all weathers, not a bonnet to  keep his

tentacles warm, he knew that life would always be a

terrible struggle for him.

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SCHOOLBOY SCAMERON

Waiting for his dinner in the dining hall of his boarding school,

Slimey D. Scameron dreaded the bullying taunts of his classmates.

Every single miserable day, when his dinner arrived and he started

to tuck in to the lovely grub, the name-calling began —

‘Scameron sea-pig the soup-sucker!’

Fat Scameron the sausage snaffler!

‘Gluttony hoggy food-pig!

and every single miserable day he left the dining hall in tears .

Poor Slimey D. Scameron.

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SCAMERON THE STUDENT

Ignored and despised by scholars and professors,

Slimey D. Scameron spent his student years alone.

No wild, druggy parties for Slimey D. Scameron! No floozies!

No flights of fancy! No fun!

Just loneliness and misery and a longing for the day

when he could shoot them all.

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PRIME MINISTER SCAMERON

He didn’t shoot the college up! Slimey D. Scameron found a better

way to get his own back on EVERYONE.

He became the PRIME MINISTER.

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SLIMEY D. SCAMERON WITH THE QUEEN

 And this is Slimey D. Scameron today,

walking companion of The Queen,

SUCCESSFUL and UNTOUCHABLE.

But at night, in bed, he still cries and cries

and sobs and sobs because with all his status

and power PEOPLE STILL CALL HIM NAMES.

Poor, poor Slimey D. Scameron.

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Jubilee, Jubilee, Jubilee

 

For the Jubilee I’ve made a Photoshop picture, the second one I’ve ever made, and the first one I’ve done without any help. It’s crap but I like it and Kumblant loves it – he got to wear the diamonds. And he was allowed to eat the corgis when we’d finished.

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The Weather Forecast For The North Of Dottyland

 

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain

and rain again.

Rain is a fucking pain.

Not that I go out in the rain, I don’t, because I CAN’T GO OUT but the rain makes too much NOISE battering on my windows. And there’s no sunshine or blueness, there’s only a BIG GLOOMY SKY FILLED WITH RAINCLOUDS.

But I suppose I should be grateful because at least our Northern rain is PROPER RAIN, it comes down fast and hard in bucket-loads, not like Southern rain which is SOFT and PIDDLY and PISSY just like the Southerners it falls on. And don’t any of you Southerners start moaning at me, because I know what you’re all up to, I know YOU WANT TO STEAL OUR RAIN.

You want to STEAL OUR RAIN because YOU HAVEN’T GOT ANY OF YOUR OWN. You want to STEAL OUR RAIN and have it piped all the way down the country into your big soft houses so you can water your big soft lawns and wash your big posh cars and leave US without any to drink. Well you can PISS OFF, it’s OUR RAIN, haven’t you got enough of everything else down there – you’ve got all the jobs, all the money, all the EVERYTHING and all we have is OUR RAIN, the same rain you LAUGH AT and COMPLAIN ABOUT if you’re ever forced into coming UP NORTH.

So no, you CAN’T HAVE IT.

Why don’t you ask your daytrip chunnel pals, France, if you can have some of their rain? I bet I know what they’ll say – NON with some French swear words to follow but I don’t know any French swear words apart from ‘casse toi’ which might be appropriate but just as likely it’s not. Oh, I also know ‘merde’ so they might say NON, CASSE TOI, TU TÊTE DE MERDE (that sounds good).

It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.

There’s so much rain coming down, rain-rain, gallons and gallons of it, and the grass looks so GREEN and LUSH.  

In fact we have so MUCH rain that we might just have to throw some of it away, into the NORTH SEA, because we wouldn’t want to spill a drop or two and have it roll DOWN SOUTH.

I might stick the hosepipe out of the window to water my flowers just in case the rain stops for a second or two and they get thirsty.

Rain, rain, happy rain.

And it’s going to rain ALL WEEK.

I’m off to have a bath. And a shower.

 

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